


Let Us Be Lovers, We'll Marry Our Fortunes Together

by Beryllium_Astatine



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, CWs in each chapter, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 15:13:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30091029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beryllium_Astatine/pseuds/Beryllium_Astatine
Summary: His teacher's daughter was entrusted to him. So he makes an offer and a request.
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 8
Kudos: 39





	Let Us Be Lovers, We'll Marry Our Fortunes Together

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, and welcome. I hope you enjoy this little side project! I have a few chapters written from a while ago, but let's see how it goes.
> 
> Title is from "America", by Simon & Garfunkel.
> 
> Thank you @lantur for the beta!
> 
> Have fun!
> 
> CW for this chapter: Depictions of grief

All dogs in the village followed the mailman's bicycle through his route twice a week, whining and howling, but never truly attacking. Riza never woke up with the ruckus, not after a lifetime of that routine. But that week her sleep had been uneasy and ragged, and the barking was enough to awaken her. It was a bright, chilly autumn morning, and the dust danced in the sunlight that entered from a crack in the shutters.

Father had been dead for a week.

Riza got up in a slow daze, taking stock of her surroundings. She was naked from the waist up, but well covered by a blanket and a quilt. She must have fallen asleep while Mr. Mustang studied the sigils on her back. At that point, her exhaustion and grief lulled her into a light nap whenever she settled on her stomach for her former housemate, Roy Mustang (Warrant Officer Mustang? She didn't know military ranks), to study the lines, although that was the first time she hadn't been awake to compose herself before he retreated to the study. Riza blushed in some kind of tiny satisfaction.

Riza couldn’t imagine herself feeling like that a few days earlier. Much less the day when it happened. Grief rolled over her hours in several liquid coats, some thinner, some thicker, but the first splashes were always the most absurd. She knew her father’s health was failing, and still she refused to believe the shape covered in a white blanket, surrounded by a doctor and a constable, could be him, when he had talked to her that very morning. The ebbing and flowing of emotions made time feel differently than it had before, and even now, Riza needed mechanisms to refer to reality without bursting into tears.

Luckily for her, Roy Mustang was there. Her father’s former student had come for his own reasons, after finishing at the Military Academy, and was thrown out of normalcy as suddenly as she was. Mustang had taken the reigns of all bureaucracy, calling authorities, signing papers, organizing the funeral, and paying for everything. He had also covered her with his overcoat and held her until the shock was out of her system, muttering sweet nothings to counter her desperate lamentations. As Riza began feeling clear-headed enough, they began sharing the responsibilities of organizing what was left. Mustang helped her as well as possible, as he was going to leave for Central City aftert the funeral, returning to his military post.

He told Riza about his dreams, though. Her father had left her with only one thing of true value, and told her to use her own judgement to pass it on. She decided to believe those dreams and make them hers, too. 

Mustang called his headquarters and requested a week-long leave that evening.

The mission of decoding the Flame Alchemy secret proved harder than Riza had imagined. At first, Mr. Mustang had tried to copy it, so she would have to lie half-naked like a map only once. She agreed on the grounds that he destroyed the copies as soon as they were decoded, and they were both relieved that the embarrassing situation would be resolved soon. But it wasn’t so simple. The tattoo was apparently very intricate and nuanced, and Mr. Mustang kept finding so many inconsistencies in his copies that he bashfully requested to return to the original constantly, because the writing on ink actually meant something else. He hopped between the study’s Alchemy books and her back several times a day, taking scribbled notes and comparing them all the time. 

After a while, it had become apparent how inconvenient it was to have her lie on her stomach for hours while Mustang researched, or for him to wait until Riza was done with whatever chore kept her busy, to check her back. So upon hearing his request to look it up on a particularly heavy day while she filled some documents, Riza bluntly pulled up the back of her blouse and unclasped her bra without so much as a grunt. She felt Mr. Mustang's surprised stare behind her for a few seconds before he dragged a chair and wordlessly began taking notes as Riza worked. Her skin burned when she realized what exactly she had done, but Mr. Mustang didn't change his attitude towards her at all, and from then on that became a common occurrence. Mustang indicated the area he'd like to see, and Riza lifted her shirt and bra (or unclasped it) as high as needed, bending over or getting up if necessary. 

Even then, Mr. Mustang was a gentleman. He never touched her, always asked for permission to pull her garments out of the way if they covered some important part, and always turned away when she was dressing or undressing. Not that she’d expected otherwise: he had always been kind, friendly and respectful towards her. But his presence at her back, just out of sight, had become _warm_ during that week, and soothed her in the storm that brewed around her life. Riza found solace in the sound of his pen scratching paper, the quiet cadence of his breathing. Even if she was cautious enough to know she should keep one eye open for any man - especially young, warm-blooded soldiers - Mustang still _felt_ exactly like the boy she once knew. Only even kinder, quieter, and…

"I have a proposition for you." Mustang declared as Riza stepped inside the kitchen, changed into her pajamas and rolled up in a blankie. His silhouette had been what changed the most in those two years. Mr. Mustang carried himself with a straight posture, much more elegant than the hunch Riza had grown used to back then. He had gotten a lot more meat on his bones and some sharpness in his features, and even through that hazy week, Riza hadn't been able to lie to herself about how _differently_ he struck her now. At that very moment, he stood beside the kitchen table wearing a white shirt and loose trousers, his hands against the morning glow as he sifted through the correspondence, and Riza felt a fluttering in her insides she was not at all prepared for.

"Oh." Riza breathed, and Mustang's expression softened.

"Sorry, that was blunt. Good morning, Miss Riza. I made us chamomile tea."

"Good morning." Riza slid towards her chair, grateful her hesitation had been interpreted as reacting to his words - which, by the way, she didn't register. A scent of smoke lingered in the air, but the wind moved from the windows on the front of the house towards the back, and pushed the smell away.

Mustang left the letters at the end of the table, served them tea, and grabbed a pan and butter to make some toast with yesterday's bread. Riza sipped from her mug in silence, her gaze lost on his shirt moving with the muscles underneath. For a ridiculous moment, she felt like studying his back, too. Riza shook her head quickly to snap those thoughts away, though. Mr. Mustang never studied _her back_ , per se, and she was indulging in very inappropriate feelings at a very inappropriate time.

 _But this isn't the first time you’ve felt this way about him_ , she heard her own voice whisper in her mind. _Not in this week, not in your life._ Riza hugged the blankie closer to her body as an automatic response. It smelled safe and familiar, and grounded her in the moment until Mustang was sitting in front of her and the table was set for their small breakfast.

As they began eating in silence, however, Riza noticed he was tense. Mustang always tried to make conversation, perhaps as a way to distract her from her sorrow. Even if she didn’t feel like responding, she had grown to expect his voice. At that moment, however, he was quiet and frowning, sighing over his toast and tapping his feet.

“Is there anything wrong?” Riza muttered, after a few minutes. Her eyes darted to the stack of letters - word of passings ran fast, especially among creditors - and wondered if Mustang had received news from his family, or from his military post. He stared at the stack too, and then back at his tea, pursing his lips.

“Yes. I mean, not really, but--” He squished a hand against his cheek, letting it run through his hair, and Riza’s heart leapt in a very dumb way. “I have good news, not so good news, and a proposition.”

“All right,” she encouraged, setting her mug down.

“The good news is,” Mustang sighed, propping his elbows on the table and intertwining his fingers. “I think I made real progress with Flame Alchemy. By that I mean important progress. I’m close to unlocking everything about it.”

“That’s great news!” Riza exclaimed, somewhat bemused. “What’s the problem, then?”

Mustang made a face, pointing at the door to the back porch. Riza gingerly got up and approached it, blinking at the brightness and feeling the full smokey draft of wind on her unprotected face as she went outside. She hugged herself tighter in the blanket, confused, and stepped on the grass.

The scorched, blackened, destroyed grass of what had been a small jungle of tall weeds.

The yard had been unkempt for years, and greenery had dominated it to the point Riza had to make trails often. Now it was patched with dark ash and dust. There were some areas with plants, some untouched by the fire, but many were burnt or greyed and withered. Riza balked, gasping in shock, and inhaling enough ash to make her cough violently.

She hurried back inside, still coughing, and found Mustang sipping from his mug, looking smaller than he was.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, sheepishly. “I don’t think I can control it very well, and I need to present myself back at headquarters the day after tomorrow. I don’t think I’ll be able to finish decoding it in time. That’s the bad news.”

“You - you destroyed my garden?!” Riza sputtered in disbelief. “With _Flame Alchemy?!_ ”

“In my defense, it wasn’t exactly a ‘garden’,” Mustang murmured inside of his cup.

“What _on Earth_ were you thinking, Mr. Mustang? You’re still learning it, so you needed to practice somewhere safe.” Riza hit her palms on the table. “You could have set the Manor on fire! You could’ve hurt yourself!”

Mustang shrunk even more in his seat. “I know,” he quietly answered. “And I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would be that violent. I was putting out embers all night long.” He looked up at her for a second, blushing like a small child. “I was at a safe enough distance from the building, though, luckily. I also protected myself with my overcoat, although the explosion did burn a bit of my hair, though.”

Riza had noticed his scorched fringe as he talked, and an infuriating desire to laugh bubbled in her heart alongside all of the fury and concern. It was a lot to feel at once towards a man who had done nothing but to keep her safe ever since he stepped back into her life, but who decided to return during quite an unlucky moment. Riza stood across the table from him for a long moment, huffing, as he miserably sipped from the tea. When the anger subsided, though, she returned to her chair, snuggling closer to her blankie (warm, worn) and picking her own cup up for a long gulp of cool tea.

 _Chamomile. Bastard knew it._ Riza stared right back at his uncomfortably apologetic expression and fought the desire to yell at him again, because that tea choice had _indeed_ been a good idea.

"Good job," she finally exhaled.

Mr. Mustang peered up tentatively.

“It's impressive that you made such a powerful flame. I remember you sweating to do more basic stuff when you were a student, and now..." Riza met his gaze. "You must be a really good alchemist. Congratulations."

A timid little grin bloomed on the young man's face. He clearly still tried to show contrition, but the glimmer in his eyes oozed pride, and Riza discreetly licked her lips to contain her own smile.

"But most of all, I'm glad we’re _both_ safe,” she deadpanned right away, grabbing a slice of toast and adjusting her posture. “What do you plan to do now?”

Mustang's smile was immediately erased from his features, the glimmer poofing away at once. He shifted in his seat, running his hand through his hair again. Riza realized his demeanor was even more uneasy than before - his brow was deeply furrowed, and he couldn’t keep his fingers from tapping his saucer. She didn’t remember seeing Mustang wound so tight before, not even in the worst moments with her father.

“Mr. Mustang?”

She saw the lump on the young soldier’s throat move up and down as he took a deep breath. Riza felt dread creeping up her ankles, slowly blurring the morning around her. This wasn’t good. Everything had been so much lately - organizing documents, getting papers notarized, updating all legal statuses, cleaning the house, _burying_ her _father_ , her father was _dead._ It gripped her own throat in no time, squeezing it just as she squeezed the fabric around her (soft, it was soft, she was in her kitchen and her blankie was soft).

“I, ah,” Mustang stuttered, looking right at her. “I have a proposition to make.”

Riza said nothing. She wanted him to get it over with and stop scaring her.

“When Master… passed… he made some recommendations.” He started, intertwining his fingers under his chin. “He told me you had the notes for Flame Alchemy, even though he said you would only consider giving them to me if you felt it was right to do so. He also asked me to watch over you.”

Riza nodded. Mustang had told her that much during that week. She also recalled him gently assuring her Father cared about her and had told him so, as she sobbed against his chest that first night.

“I was going to do it regardless, of course,” Mustang softly added. Riza nodded again, fidgeting with her blanket edge. 

“I, ahn… I have been thinking, though.” He gulped again, biting his lip and looking away. “Once I return to Central, I won’t be able to do it. To watch over you.”

“You already did so much, Mr. Mustang.” The whisper came, almost like a whistle, from Riza’s dry mouth. “I told you, I can work this out.”

“I know, and I trust you, believe me,” Mustang quickly added, making a conciliatory gesture. “But…” He returned to this previous position, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. When he opened them again, Riza saw determination, and she unconsciously straightened up.

“Miss Riza, I’m not oblivious to the underlying implications of Master’s words, considering our previous relationship and similar ages.” Mr. Mustang’s voice was suddenly steady and grave. His gaze didn’t waver from her face, but his hands trembled. “Not to mention his intent on passing the secret of Flame Alchemy to me directly, had he had time, and you being its guardian. I had this proposition in the back of my mind the entire week, because of those circumstances and despite our reunion’s current… uh, circumstances.” 

He swallowed. “But I have been regarding it more and more favorably during the past days, for a number of reasons. And I just, ” -- Riza looked at the stack of correspondence he pointed at -- “came to a definitive decision, after seeing the bank’s letter. I know what that is.”

“Yes.” Riza said, flatly. “They’re taking the house. I was planning on moving to a room in town while I sorted myself out.” 

Mr. Mustang inhaled, pursing his lips while looking directly at her, as if breaking the contact would ruin his resolve. “I’d like to - if you’re amenable - to have the… the privilege of becoming your husband. If you’ll take me, that is.”

Riza blinked once, twice. She wasn’t fidgeting with the blanket.

“What?”

“I understand this is very sudden and… untimely.” Mustang waved his hands; he was blushing violently. “But I’m not asking - I won’t ask - for anything from you but your hand and your friendship. I simply believe that is the best way to ensure you’ll be safe and cared for, for as long as… as long as you see fit.” He breathed the last part, all of his earlier nervousness galloping back in his demeanor.

“Mr. Mustang, I - ” Riza began, her voice foreign to her ears. “I’m not sure if I’m getting this right.”

“I believe you are,” Mr. Mustang muttered, scratching the back of his head nonstop. “I’m sorry this was so… I’m sorry about how I conducted myself.” He clasped his hands before his torso, firmly on the table. “But I mean every word. And I promise that I’ll make you the happiest woman in the world, for as long as you take me, if you accept it.”

“But…” Riza's head was spinning. He called her a _woman_ . When did she become a _woman_ in his eyes? “What if you meet someone you fall in love with? What if you want to marry them?”

At that, Mustang’s shoulders relaxed, and the timid smile crossed his reddened face again. He looked Riza in the eye as he sighed. “Unlikely.”

_Unlikely? What do you mean by--_

Riza's muscles all tensed at once, blood rushing to her cheeks. Mr. Mustang's smile widened a bit.

_Oh._

The morning was chilly, with a white, cold sun that didn't reach inside the kitchen. Thrushes sang from her ruined backyard, despite the smoke and the weather. Riza's blanket was fuzzy and familiar, wrapping around her arms and draping over her shoulders and down her back, warm, and gentle, and _quiet_ , and faintly scented of buttered toast and chamomile…

A thud of a cup of water placed on the table in front of her made her jump in her seat, and out of her reverie. "Here, drink this. You look so pale; I'm so sorry," Mustang breathed, distressed.

"Thank you." Riza drank the water in large gulps, taking the time to recover. When she set her glass down on the table again, her breathing was once again steady, if a little heavy. "So this is your plan to watch over me." 

Mustang quickly nodded. "It's completely on your word, of course." He sat back down, elbows on the table. "We can think of something else, but unfortunately this does seem like the safest idea. If I claim you as a long-lost sister or something like that, we'll have to forge documents, which is risky for both of us. Also, then your pension would end when you turn twenty-one, and who knows what the country will be like then." Mustang gestured nervously, the words coming out faster than normal. Then he averted his eyes and gulped. "This spousal pension can't be extended to friends, and… it may look improper if I support you without a, ah, _bond_."

Riza gripped the edges of her blanket. She had understood every word, but the proposition itself still rang in her mind, like a chipped windchime. She reached for her half-eaten toast, tentatively, as if tuning into reality itself.

"You said you want to marry me," she shot back, staring directly at him. 

Mustang waited for her to continue until he realized that was all. Then he nodded. "I did."

Riza cocked her head, her eyelids slightly dropping. "No you didn't. I lied."

He flinched, bemused. Riza's eyes remained on his face, unwavering, even if her lower lip trembled.

"You said you want to be my husband to care for me, for as long as I'm amenable."

"Yes…?"

"You didn't say you wanted to marry _me_."

Mr. Mustang considered her for a long time, gazing at her quizzically, as she averted her eyes, trying to eat the rest of breakfast. Then Riza heard his realization through a deep inhale, and felt her composure seeping away with it. 

"Do you want to talk about this right now?" Riza basked in the low, soft tone of Mustang's voice, considering the implications of his question.

"No," she whispered, pulling her blanket closer around her shoulders, and relaxing her chin against her chest. Everything was just so much. The wind had changed, bringing the smell of smoke inside with more force.

"I'll take care of everything today," he muttered. "I'll go to the village to get us lunch. Get some rest."

Riza blinked and straightened as the realization hit her. "That's how you plan on deciphering the secret of Flame Alchemy after going back to your duties. By taking it with you."

She looked at the young man. His posture had taken on gravity she had seen only once before, as he stood beside the priest during her father's funeral.

"You gifted it to me," Mr. Mustang said huskily, and she shivered. "You can take it away whenever you want. If that's your wish, I'll accept it. But my proposal doesn't hinge on that, and it remains the same."

Riza watched attentively as he closed his eyes and ran his hand through his scorched fringe again, his cheeks flushing. "But we'll talk about it another time."

Mustang quickly nodded at her before walking out of the kitchen in large, military strides. Riza waited until she heard the bathroom lock turn before managing to breathe again, stalling the overwhelming reality before her.

Morning had become a mess of smoke and strange promises that turned the fragile routine built over that week into ashes. Father was dead, and now Mr. Mustang offered to be her husband. Riza knew she could make it - " _I trust you, believe me,_ " - and make a living through her wits and hard work. It had always been like that. It wouldn't be different now.

 _"Your hand and your friendship.”_ In exchange, she’d live in Central City, where all railways ended and businesses began. Surely she could use that opportunity to find a suitable living for herself. She could at least contribute to his generosity as a protector, adding her income to his salary and their shared benefits. Her father had supported her with his income for her entire life up to this point, but this? This was a completely different story.

 _"It may look improper if I support you without a, ah,_ bond."

Or was it? 

_"…the happiest woman in the world…"_

Riza got up slowly, frowning, and decided she could use a nap before letting the avalanche in her mind gallop over her. She slid upstairs, wrapping herself more comfortably in the blanket as she nested back under the quilt, every muscle strained. Riza sniffed the old piece of fabric around her again, to ground herself in its dark familiarity.

It was his arms snaking around her in her mind, with the same smell of smoke, tea, and toast, warm against her back. She bunched the quilt on top of her, his weight as she imagined it. Riza drifted into sleep, blushing and remorseless.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos appreciated, and thank you for reading!!


End file.
